You're not in Texas Anymore
by Forestsilver
Summary: What happens when our favorite (cough, cough) American president falls into Middle Earth and joins the Fellowship? Obviously not a Mary-Sue...
1. Chapter 1

What happens when our favorite *cough, cough* American president falls into Middle Earth. Sort of self-explanatory.  
  
  
  
And please note- I actually don't think that the president is a fool. He's okay. I just happen to be playing off the popular sentiments of young liberals.  
  
~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~~  
  
George W. Bush was not having a good day. Congress did not want to drop a bunch of those big kablooey thingies (what were they called again?) on that guy in the Mid East; the Secret Service had discovered another group of liberals trying to assassinate him; and the bakery down the street were out of his favorite doughnuts.  
  
He felt like shooting a bunch of squirrels.  
  
So, it was very annoying indeed when an aide came in and told him that the Secretary of Defense needed to see him right away, and sorry Mr. President but it really can't wait until after your umpteenth cup of coffee.  
  
He marched into the Oval Office and glared at Donald Rumsfield. "What is it now, Rumsfield? I told you Iraq could wait until after luncheon."  
  
Rumsfield peered at him gravely. "I'm afraid we have a bit of a crisis here, Bush. Our intelligence sources report that Saddam Hussien is planning to drop nuclear weapons on the White House-"  
  
"See! I told you! But no... the American people just won't believe it when it comes from me, will they..."  
  
"Ahem. May I continue? Well, like I was going to finish, they said the bombs would fall in about" -he checked his watch- "half an hour."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Oh- wait, sorry. Fifteen minutes."  
  
"What! You call me up to say that I'm about to be annihilated by some wacko in the Middle East that tried to kill my daddy and is now trying to kill me, and there's absolutely nothing I can do, right?"  
  
Rumsfield peered at him seriously. "Don't be ridiculous, George. There's always something you can do." He paused. "I hear reruns of the Super Bowl are on."  
  
An aide, carrying a stack of defense papers, waited patiently at the door as the president set up two folding chairs and the secretary of defense adjusted the satellite dish.  
  
"You see," the aide remarked to a nearby security guard, "this is the reason for the failing of western society as we know it."  
  
~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~~  
  
Donald was having a fine time with the popcorn, George noted sourly. He could not help but feel a tad worried, however. What was going to happen?  
  
All of a sudden he felt an immense pressure and an indescribable feeling of doomsday. However, instead of going to heaven or hell or wherever, Bush felt a warm sun on the back of his neck. He opened his eyes.  
  
He was lying on a grassy hill. It seemed to be summertime, and Rumsfield was nowhere to be seen. Bush stood up. Looking around, he realized that this could all be a devious plan of Saddam's- to lull him into submission by weirding him out.  
  
Bush started walking towards the next bend, where some smoke was rising in the air and there seemed to be some sign of life. He was astonished to find a little village of miniature houses, and... little people, scurrying around everywhere.  
  
George approached the nearest little person warily. He tapped the person on the back, and it spun around. "One of the Big People!" it cried.  
  
Suddenly Bush was surrounded by a mass of those- those little people. He began to panic slightly as they jostled him, all in one direction. He suspected that they were part of a rural Al-Qaeda legion. Everything pointed in that direction- the stunted growth, the lack of basic items such as shoes, and the fact that they did not immediately acknowledge him as leader of the most powerful country in the world.  
  
One of the little people handed him a curiously shaped pipe, filled with some substance- obviously some sort of tranquilizer. It was pathetic how unoriginal these people were.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" Bush asked of one of the nearby little people.  
  
It answered in a strange accent- they all had accents- "We are taking you to Bag End!"  
  
Ah, Bush thought, clearly their local dialect for Baghdad. These terrorists really needed to work on their intelligence secrecy.  
  
~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~~  
  
A/N: Yes... off to Bag End/dad they go... who will be there to meet with him? 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I haven't updated this in forever, and consequently the first chapter is no longer applicable with regards to current events. So I'm just going to skip from that to today. R/R!  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
They stopped in front of a dugout with a green door, which was obviously a bad idea because it could easily be seen from the air and targeted by American bombers. However, when the door opened, it was no little hill-man. Instead a very tall old guy with a long beard stepped out. He looked very surprised.  
  
"Aren't you the leader of Ameri-land in the future of Middle Earth, 2000?" he asked.  
  
"Er. actually it's 2003 right now," Bush said. "Boy, am I happy glad to see you! You sound like one of them Briticans. I know one of them. His name is Tony and he's my friend."  
  
"I believe the word is Britons," Gandalf said. "But I have an idea you're not where you're supposed to be."  
  
"Sure as heck, no! I was in the White House the other second, but seeing how it got all blown down by that Sa- Sadda- Sadad- that TERRORIST!"  
  
Gandalf rolled his eyes. "MERIADOC BRANDYBUCK AND PEREGRIN TOOK, YOU GET YOUR PIPE-SNIFFING ARSES OVER HERE THIS INSTANT!"  
  
Soon two little hill-men came into view. One of them was clutching a map and the other one a long silver stick that was faintly glowing. "You called, Gandalf?" they said.  
  
"What have I told you about playing with the spoils of Isengard?" Gandalf said sternly.  
  
One of them caught sight of Bush. "Hey! You found him, Gandalf!" He stuck out his hand. "I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck- Merry, for short. I hope we didn't inconvenience you too much. See, Pippin was playing with Saruman's wand and this old map, see, and whenever we jabbed it at a place a person would pop out. We've got them all back there except you, but that's only because you wandered away."  
  
"Don't tell him that, Merry!" Pippin exclaimed. "I thought we were going to sort out how to take all that lot back ourselves."  
  
Gandalf sighed. "Just how many did you manage to transport-" He was cut off by a crack that split the air, followed by a green flash and lots of screaming. The four of them ran to the site, which was in the backyard of Sam Gamgee's house.  
  
They found a tall thin man waving a wand around cackling evilly next to the bodies of a couple of adults and many small children. Bill Gates, Walter Cronkite and Tiger Woods were standing to one side.  
  
"He has killed the Russian royal family," Cronkite said in a grave voice.  
  
"Really?" Bush said. "Well, that's a relief. Putin never had much support for me, anyway."  
  
"Not him, you idiot!" Gandalf snapped. "That's the last tzar of Russia and his family lying there."  
  
"Hey, I think I know him," Bush said. "That's that Voldy-mort guy in the book Laura was reading to me the other night. He's supposed to be evil."  
  
Voldemort turned around. "Who dares say my name-" He was cut off in mid-sentence by Gandalf, who turned him into a cherry turnover.  
  
"Pushover," Gandalf said dismissively. Merry and Pippin began fighting over the turnover.  
  
"Where are we, Bush?" Gates said, seeing the president. "This is all your fault, you know! First the economy, and now this! There's a lawsuit in here somewhere!"  
  
"Can't you make him shut up?" Pippin asked as Gates continued his barrage. Gandalf rolled his eyes and turned Gates into a large dill pickle. "Yum," said Pippin.  
  
Tiger Woods looked at him in horror. "You just ate one of the most famous men in America!- after me, of course," he added as an afterthought.  
  
Gandalf glowered at the three remaining earthlings. "Does anyone ELSE want to be Pippin's mid-afternoon snack?"  
  
Sam, hearing all the commotion, stuck his head out of the window and saw the Russians still lying on the ground. "Are you finished with that lot?" he asked. "Seeing as how they don't seem to need their bodies anymore, I could sure use them for a fine fertilizer."  
  
"I think I'm going to be sick," Tiger said.  
  
"You think you have it bad!" Gandalf snapped. "How am I supposed to get you lot back to where you belong?"  
  
"You could always turn them into some cream cakes," Pippin suggested. "I'm still hungry." 


End file.
